The Art of Vampire Interaction
by Constant Comment Tea
Summary: On befriending reclusive vampires
1. Meetings the First and Second

**The Art of Vampire Interaction:**

**On befriending reclusive vampires**

**Disclaimer: **The character of Angel and his past, including mentions of other Jossverse characters/settings, belong to Joss Whedon; I am simply borrowing them for a little while. All other characters and the story, however, belong to me.

**Spoilers:** Nothing specific, except for some vague-ish BtVS season 2 references.

**Rating:** For very mild language and a scene at the end that discusses some adult themes

**Distribution: **Just ask!

**Special Thanks: **To my fabulous beta, Babblefest, who also happens to be my co-author on another posted story (_Bygones_). She's a great author, so please check her works out, as well!

**Author's Notes: **While plot-wise, this story is a standalone, it _is_ part of my _Interaction _series and it uses a few original characters who were introduced in the _Art of Human Interaction_. I've gotten very positive feedback from several different and reliable sources on these original characters and their non-Mary-Sue-ness (and, in fact, some praise on Judith's complete awesomeness). You don't have to know the events of the previous story in order to understand this one; however, it _would_ help to read it (or the first few chapters) to better understand the setup. Plus, it's a good story. Not trying to toot my own horn, I just think it's true.

Why I wrote this: Aside from needing to explore how and why Angel's friendship with Judith Cole developed in the years between the_ Art of Human Interaction_ and its sequel, the _Heart of Human Interaction_, I always really liked the idea of Angel developing a friendship with a mother-figure such as Judith. I think Angel and Joyce Summers had a fascinating dynamic that wasn't really explored in the show, and so when Judith showed up in this series, it gave me this opportunity to explore Angel's relationship with another mature adult, and I've greatly enjoyed the relationship and understanding between them that has come out of this exploration.

I hope you enjoy the story!

**Chapter One: Meetings the First and Second; the Second Being of a Curious Nature**

Judith Cole straightened the pillows on the couch. She wasn't normally a compulsive pillow-straightener, but she had just finished a book that gripped her so thoroughly, she had not noticed how far gravity had pulled her into the cushions. She had moved her head slightly to wipe a tear away five pages from the end and a surprising bolt of pain had shot down her neck from its awkward angle on the armrest. When she finally turned off the book, she had breathed a satisfied yet disappointed sigh that the story was over and wiped a few more tears from her cheek. Then she had stood up and noticed the pillows folded and squashed between the cushions. Squashed pillows would just not do.

She set them up to recover their fluff, then went to the bathroom to blow her nose and see what she could do about her red eyes. She was glad her son wasn't home. He would either worry or roll his eyes at the sight of her tears, and either reaction would spoil the mood. Crying about someone else's story was always less painful than crying about one's own story, and the release of emotion was satisfying. Besides, in the end of her book all was well, so her crying was uplifting rather than depressing. No worrying or rolling of the eyes needed or wanted, thank you.

She dried her eyes and decided they would be back to normal in a few minutes. Judith made her way to the kitchen to brew some tea, her mind's eye watching reruns of the more impressive scenes of the book and imagining what might have happened if the author had kept writing. She had just set the water to heating when someone knocked at the door. She checked one last time in the hall mirror to make sure she looked presentable and gave a word of thanks that tears from a book had shorter-lasting effects than tears from real life, and opened the door. Of all the people who might have knocked, she was not expecting it to be Angel.

Angel nodded to her cordially. "Mrs. Cole," he said. She stared at him a brief second, as she usually had to on those infrequent occasions that their paths crossed, to allow her brain to process all the extraordinary things she knew about him. Angel had always secretly fascinated her. She'd achieved half a master's degree in history before William had unexpectedly come along, and Angel was history itself. Judith and Angel had little contact, but what interactions they _had_ had so far left her curious and with much to think about. She couldn't even begin to imagine what those eyes had seen and the mere thought that his body was more than 400 years old made her head spin and her heart leap.

She gathered herself together and returned quickly enough, "Good evening." She paused. "I'm afraid William isn't home at the moment," she said, guessing Angel's reason for the visit.

"I see," Angel nodded. "Well, sorry to bother you." He made as if to leave, but, quite on its own, her voice spoke,

"I expect him back any minute."

Angel stopped.

"You're welcome to wait for him here," Judith continued. "I've just made some tea. That is, if you drink…?"

"Yeah," Angel said. "I drink tea." He stepped cautiously across the threshold, and Judith suddenly remembered the time, years ago, when she and William had tea with Angel in his apartment. Well, she _had_ been meaning to return the courtesy…

Using the hot water she'd meant to save for William, she fixed an extra cup while Angel waited silently in the kitchen doorway. He had an eerie sort of powerful presence that crept on her as her back was turned. Clearly, she thought, he was the kind of person you _really_ wanted to be on your side. Not that she was frightened; just…observant.

"Have a seat, please," she said, turning with the two cups in her hands. Angel sat at the table as she set out the necessary tea accompaniments. Judith poured a small dollop of cream in her tea, but Angel seemed content to simply let the cup warm his cold hands. Though she had known Angel for nearly six years now, their interactions were few enough that she still had difficulty swallowing who he was, and, strangely, who _she_ was in his presence. Ever since she had threatened to kill him if he ever hurt William, things were, quite naturally, awkward between them. The last true discussion they'd had that went beyond greetings and farewells was when Angel had approached her to ask permission to train William how to fight. The fact that he asked at all, when such a creature as he was would certainly not need to, told her that her threat had actually had the desired effect, and also that perhaps Angel was as wary of her as she was of him. It was a strange thought, which she had occasionally grappled with when her mind was otherwise unoccupied.

"So why the visit?" She said eventually, breaking the silence.

Angel hesitated, as if debating whether to tell her truth or just not answer at all. "Got a tip about a nest," he said finally. "I thought the boys could use the practice."

Judith nodded, wondering if it might have been better if she didn't ask at all.

"I would have called him," Angel continued, "but this was on the way, and it should probably be taken care of tonight."

"Right," Judith said. "People might be in danger tonight."

"It's a nest of vampires," Angel said. "People will die tonight."

Judith frowned. She didn't understand him one bit. "In that case," she said without thinking, "I suppose it's good that they have people like you protecting them. You know, because they 'probably should.'" Angel didn't answer for a moment.

He took a sip of tea, and then said, "No, Mrs. Cole, it's a good thing they have people like your son, who protect them because they _want_ to. My story is long and complicated, and if you knew it, you might understand why my attitude toward the whole 'helping the hopeless' thing is the way it is."

"'Helping the hopeless'?" Judith repeated.

"A friend's phrase," Angel said, drinking some more tea. "As I said: long and complicated."

"Will I ever hear it?"

Angel appraised her for a minute, and Judith felt compelled to drink her own tea to release the tension that she suddenly felt rise. Just as he seemed about to answer, William burst into the apartment.

"Hi Mum," he said from the door. In a move that made Judith blink a few times to check her eyes, Angel was out of his chair and passing through the kitchen door before Judith had the chance to reply. She heard William's surprise at Angel's presence as she caught up to him.

"Angel. What are you doing here?"

"I got a tip," Angel said. "Want to come?"

William hesitated, processing the twist in his expectations. "Sure," he replied. William turned to his mother. "I guess I'll be back later," he said, and she nodded.

Angel turned around and held out his hand. "Thank you, Mrs. Cole," he said as she took his tea-warmed hand.

"Judith." She said automatically, and then added, "Please." Angel nodded with a smile that was not quite a smile, but was friendly enough in his own strange way, and left with William close behind.

* * *

Judith saw Angel once shortly after he drank tea in her kitchen, and it surprised her, as encounters with him rarely came so close together. She was dropping off a bouquet of flowers to her aunt at St. Anthony's Retirement Community late one evening as a surprise for when she woke up the next morning. Her aunt was a life-long gardener and dearly missed the large plot of land she used to tend sun-up to sun-down. The tiny patch she was allotted at the home was a poor replacement for the acres she used to own, so Judith periodically brought her potted flowers and bouquets to cheer her up. It wasn't much, but she knew it was appreciated.

She almost didn't notice Angel in the hall, as she was not used to seeing anyone so late at night, and was distracted by the lovely smell of the lilacs. In fact, they might have passed right by each other had they not nearly collided.

"Oh, pardon m—Angel?"

Angel seemed just as surprised, and not at all happy, to have finally noticed her. "Judith," he replied quickly, not meeting her eyes.

"What on earth are you doing here?"

"I could ask you the same thing," Angel returned. "Most of the residents are asleep at this hour."

Judith indicated the flowers. "A surprise for my aunt. I leave them outside her door so she gets them in the morning."

Angel nodded. He seemed eager to leave, but unsure how to politely extract himself. Judith decided not to let him go quite yet. "And you?" she pressed again.

Angel's hesitation lasted only the briefest of seconds. "There was a fear demon living in the basement. I killed it."

"I see. How did you know it was there?"

"I know one of the guys on the night shift. He called me as soon as he realized it was down there." Angel's voice was steady and his eyes unblinking, so Judith did not press the matter.

"Well," she said. "It's good to know it's gone."

"Yeah," Angel nodded once. "Well, I guess I'll see you later."

"Alright," Judith replied. She watched Angel stride a little too quickly back down the hall before she turned and continued in the direction of her aunt's room.


	2. Unconventional Gifts and Shops

**Chapter Two: In Which an Unconventional Gift Is Chosen in an Unconventional Shop.**

Not even a week later, Judith decided that this must be one of those clusters of unusual occurrences that came in threes, for she unexpectedly ran into Angel for a third time as she was making her way home not long after sunset. As she glanced through the window shops that she passed, her eyes found Angel's dark, yet distinctive figure through the glass of one of the stores, looking at something on the shelves that she could not see beside the window. Judith stopped momentarily in surprise (though after their last meeting, she supposed by now she shouldn't have been surprised to see him anywhere).

Her surprise dissipated when she realized exactly which store he was in: Ferguson's Occultte Shop. She never trusted that shop, partially from the strange vibes it gave, but mostly because of its gross misuse of ancient spelling. It was a weak reason for disliking the establishment, but as a historian and lover of words, she felt more offended than she would've liked to admit by the lack of research involved in selecting the otherwise unoriginal title of the shop.

Suddenly, as if he felt her eyes, Angel glanced up and out the window. She started slightly at the sudden distance contact. The customary awkward pause followed, and then Angel surprised her again. With a visible hesitation, he crossed the length of the shop to the door and pulled it open. A bell tinkled inside.

"Hi," Angel said, betraying only some of the uncertainty she was sure he must have felt.

"Good evening," Judith nodded.

Angel seemed unsure how to continue. Finally, he said, "Listen, I'm sorry to bother you," he shifted his weight, "but can I ask you something? If you're not in a hurry, I mean."

Judith tried to hide her shock. "No," she said. "No, I'm not in a hurry."

Angel held the door wide open for her, which she took to mean that she was to enter the store. She hesitated. Anything from here was well within Angel's expertise. What could she possibly help him with? Taking a small breath, she pushed her way past the offensive sign and, for the first time in her life, entered Ferguson's. Angel led Judith along the window directly to the far end of the shop, where she had first seen him.

"Here," he said, stopping at a shelf where several medium-sized wooden chests sat. "I wanted to get William one of these, for his birthday. And," he paused, sounding almost embarrassed. It unnerved Judith slightly. It was the first time he'd ever displayed anything so human. "I'm not sure which design he'd like."

"Oh," Judith said. This, she _could_ help with. "Which ones were you thinking of?"

"Any one of these three," he pointed to two boxes on the middle shelf and one on the top shelf. Judith studied them for a minute, taken aback by how well Angel had already narrowed his choices down. William would love all three.

"What is it for?" She asked as she stared at the beautiful carvings.

Angel hesitated. "To keep his weapons in."

Judith took an extra deep breath to retain her appearance of nonchalance.

Angel continued, "He'll need a bigger one someday, but this will do for stakes and knives for now. It's kind of…traditional. I thought 16 would be a good age…"

"Does Calder have one?"

Angel nodded. "He was much easier to choose for."

Judith smiled and silence fell again.

"You know," Angel said after a moment, as she continued to weigh the choices, "I was really surprised you let me train him." Judith turned to look him in the eye. "I know how hard it can be…wanting to protect someone, but knowing you can't. I'm impressed by how well you're dealing with it."

Judith gave a small smile of appreciation. "I'm not the most thrilled a parent could be," she admitted. "But unlike many, I learned from my personal experiences: when a thing is forbidden, it becomes all the more desirable." Angel nodded while Judith paused. "And," she continued, "you've demonstrated that you're trustworthy; so if he's not under my watch, then I'd rather he be under yours."

Angel's mouth formed the slighted of smiles. "Thanks," he said.

Judith nodded and turned back to the shelves and silence fell while she made her choice. Angel was almost unnervingly patient.

"I think," she finally said, "that one." She pointed to the box on the top shelf. "The wolf leader under the full moon."

"I was leaning toward that one, too," Angel said, lifting the box from the shelf. Its low scrape against the shelf told her that it was heavier than it looked. Angel looked over at her. "Thanks," he said again, and she nodded.

Angel nodded also, neither of them quite knowing if it had been a farewell exchange of nods or a gratitude exchange of nods. Deciding for himself, Angel turned and began to move away down one of the aisles. Drawn by some invisible string of curiosity, Judith followed.

"Tell me," she said, "doesn't the title of this shop bother you?"

Angel grinned slightly at the unexpected comment. "It does. But this is the closest place to me, and I like the artist who carves these wooden chests." As they walked down an aisle filled with all sorts of apothecary-like ingredients, Angel stopped to pick up a few bags of something dark green before continuing on toward the front of the shop. "Just don't ever come here for anything really important."

"These…spell ingredients, are they?…they're not important?"

"Not the basic stuff," Angel replied, and dropped the lot onto the counter for the middle-aged Asian clerk to ring up —who had clearly overhead the conversation and did not look pleased at Angel for turning away a potential new customer. Judith gasped when she read the total on the screen.

"Angel, that's far too much. You really don't have to—"

"Don't worry about it," Angel interrupted. Judith started to protest again, but Angel cut her off. "I have hundreds of year's worth of high-interest savings sitting in the bank doing absolutely nothing." Angel glared threateningly at the clerk, whom Judith noticed had an unusually interested look on his face, and added, "A high security bank for, and run by, non-humans. Stealing one of the teller's _pens_ is like walking out of the Swiss Bank with its most highly-valued charge."

The clerk tried to maintain a dignified frown, mumbling something in Korean as he handed Angel's card back.

"No need to be rude," Angel replied as he tossed his ingredients into the chest, closed the lid, and picked the whole thing up.

"You speak Korean?" Judith asked as they headed for the door.

"Enough to get by," Angel replied. "I passed through there once."

Judith found herself intensely curious to find out more, but the door had closed behind them and they were out in the night air, and heading in different directions. Perhaps, given the chance, she would have invited him over for tea again and listened to him tell of his journey through Korea. But before she had the chance to even hesitate before asking, Angel thanked her again and bade her goodnight. She said good night as well, and allowed her moment of hesitation to be one of staring at Angel's quickly retreating figure before she, too, went home.


	3. On Death

**Chapter Three: On Death**

Several months passed by, and odd encounters with Angel decreased once again to normal levels. She saw him occasionally if she looked out the window at just the right moment on the nights she waited for William to come home, when he walked William to their building before heading home himself. Sometimes Calder was with them, depending on whose building had been closer that night, and sometimes Angel was alone. On the times he was alone, Judith noticed that he tended to disappear into the darkness much more quickly.

She and Angel exchanged a few words, but Judith still sometimes pondered the conversations they had recently had. Her curiosity of him drove her to wish that circumstances would bring about another opportunity for her to question him, until the thought occurred to her one morning to ask William what he knew. Spending so much time with him, and having listened to countless stories when he was a child (something Judith very secretly had always been envious of), she was surprised that she hadn't thought to ask him sooner.

"Will?" Judith started to say as she set two glasses of orange juice on the table one morning and sat down. William looked up from the bit of last-minute homework he was trying to finish. Judith continued, "Does Angel talk to you about his past much?"

William didn't answer right away, startled at the unexpected question. "Er," he said finally, "sometimes. Why?"

"I was just wondering," Judith replied.

William returned to his homework.

"Do you know where he's from?"

"Here, I think," William replied, entering something in on his Palm. "Ireland, I mean. But he's lived all over, so…"

"Has he?"

"Well yeah." He glanced up and reached for his orange juice. "Especially during his bad vampire days. He lived nearly everywhere in Europe, and even some of northern Africa during that time." William swallowed some orange juice and set his glass down. "Then I think he went to Asia for a bit and North America for a long time. I think he was in South America for a while after that." William shrugged and bent back over his homework. "Like I said, he's lived all over."

"Mm," Judith pondered. "I suppose that would make sense."

"Yeah, living in one place would get boring after a while. Plus, he had to run from vampire hunters for a while, so that would've kept him moving."

"Did you ever ask him what life was life back then?"

William shrugged again, tapping the button on his Palm distractedly. "Only if I needed help with homework. _You're_ the one who likes history, Mum. You know, you should go back and get the rest of that Master's degree. I bet Angel could help you get it in no time."

Judith smiled. "Maybe someday," she said. The thought of finishing had always been at the back of her mind. "Maybe when you've moved out," she said.

"Don't hold your life up for me," he said, turning off his Palm and standing up. "See you later," he said, hugging her quickly with one arm and dashing out the door for school.

Judith smiled at his empty chair and contemplated the leftover toast crusts and half-drunk juice. "It's too late for that, darling," she said into the silence.

* * *

Judith would not have called if it weren't an emergency. As it was, she hesitated before the blank video screen, teetering on edge of the invisible, blurry boundary of her relationship with Angel. If it weren't so late, and if her destination weren't best reached through a more suspect part of town, the thought wouldn't have even occurred to her. But she knew the dangers now, especially since William had come home a few nights ago with a deep gash in his left arm.

She pulled in her breath and dialed Angel's number. He appeared on the screen moments later, looking quite awake—if a bit curious and concerned—as she had hoped to find him, the wooden background of his apartment glowing richly in the quiet light of a reading lamp. His condition did have the one advantage that she wasn't being entirely rude calling at a few minutes past one in the morning.

"Angel," she said, giving the courteous opening the she knew was going to be waved away, but couldn't bring herself to leave out, "I am so sorry to disturb you."

"You're not," Angel predictably replied. "What's wrong?"

"Nothing," she said. "Well, yes, of course there is something, but nothing to do with William; he's fine." She was only guessing that that's what he was thinking, and she seemed to be right as his expression relaxed slightly. "I—I need to ask a rather large favor of you. I wouldn't, except that it is a bit of an emergency." She took a quick breath to sooth the tension that clenched her body together and continued before Angel could make any response.

"I need to get to St. Anthony's right away. I've just had a call. My aunt who is living there had a rather severe heart attack," she swallowed to keep her emotion steady. "I'm the only family in town, and they don't think she has much longer." Judith silently congratulated herself that her voice had not broken. She was quite fond of her aunt, and had always been closer to her than most other relatives: such a shock so late at night had hit her hard. "Would you be willing to take me there?"

"Where's William?" Angel asked.

"At his father's for the night, across town."

Angel hesitated. "Wouldn't he want to know?"

Momentarily taken aback, it took her a second to answer. "I would rather not put him through the stress. He's not close with her, and I think he would rather hear it in the morning than now. Angel, please, just let me know if you will come. I can call a taxi, but I would rather have your company than a stranger's, or," she couldn't quite believe she was about to admit this, "or even William's. He's can't offer me the kind of…stoic security I need right now." Judith and Angel stared at each other for a long moment. And then he nodded.

"I'll be there in a few minutes."

Judith breathed a quiet sigh of relief. "Thank you," she smiled, and they hung up.

Angel indeed arrived in just a few minutes, as promised. Judith was waiting for him just inside the door of her building and stepped out into the chilly autumn air as he pulled up in his vintage vehicle. She hurried into the passenger's seat.

"Thank you, Angel, you can't imagine how much I appreciate this."

"No problem," Angel said, punching at a few buttons on the dashboard. "It's not like I was sleeping or anything." He offered the faintest of smiles to make up for his distracted and not altogether convincing tone. "_Dang_ it!" He'd accidentally pressed the power button and engine died.

"Don't you know how to drive a manual?" Judith asked, surprised.

"Of course!" Angel said, starting the car again. "I know how to drive a _normal_ manual, with a clutch and a gear shift. These new ones with buttons make no sense." Judith decided not to point out that his car was at _least_ 40 years old, and therefore hardly "new." He pressed a few more buttons. "Damn," he muttered under his breath as the GPS flashed on the screen and the car's computer asked in a sweet female voice where he would like to go. Muttering as he pressed more random buttons, he said, "Just when I get used to the old one, it dies and I have to figure this stuff out all over again…"

"I'm sorry, I didn't understand you," the computer said cheerfully, as if its happiest life goal were to serve the mid-life-crisis-stricken male that bought it. "Please repeat your destin—"

"—I don't want to go anywhere!" Angel almost shouted in his frustration. Then he added through gritted teeth, "Or I don't want you telling me how to get there."

"Here," Judith said, leaning over and bringing up the proper screen for him.

"Thanks," Angel said, and, back in familiar territory, he accelerated and zoomed off down the empty street.

Judith nodded and sat back in her seat. The anxiety and fear had subsided slightly at the distraction, but it was now returning as the quiet let all manner of terrible thoughts return to her. In an effort to keep them at bay a little longer, Judith spoke.

"Why do you have a car? I don't think I know of anyone else in the city that has one. It's not like we really need them."

"I bought it so I could take the boys out to cemeteries without a lot of questions asked," Angel replied. "We don't go out much anymore, but I remembered how much I missed being able to drive directly to wherever I want to go."

Judith pursed her lips. She did not like the idea of Angel buying a car for such a little purpose. "I see," she said simply. The silence took over again, so she continued, "Well, I suppose I'm grateful for that tonight. I hope I didn't interrupt anything important…"

Angel shook his head. "Just reading."

"What were you reading?" She asked. Judith caught him glancing at her out of the corner of her eye before he responded.

"An old demonology text I just got."

"How old?" She asked.

Angel thought a minute. "Mid-18th century, I think."

Even through her anxiety-bordering-on-terror, she marveled at the thought that a paper book had survived for 400 years outside of a museum. In fact … "So it's about as old as you, then?" She asked.

Angel nodded. "Just about."

Glancing at him, Judith said with a suppressed grin, "I'm sure you've aged much better than it has."

The smallest of smiles, which disappeared when she blinked, flickered over his mouth. "Probably," he replied.

She didn't know what made her ask, or even why the thought came to her, but her voice spoke before she could stop it, "Why is that?"

Angel glanced at her in question.

"I mean, what—I'm sorry, but this is the only word I can think of right now—but what 'preserves' you? Bodies are supposed to decay after death. It is magic?"

Angel stared at the road, pointedly not meeting her eyes even though he was supposed to be watching where they were going anyway. "It's blood."

Judith stared at him, waiting for more.

"Blood is life." He said, then added a bit more quietly, "that's why the undead have to drink it."

"Oh," she said in a small voice, and she was silent the remaining minute or so until they pulled into St. Anthony's parking lot. Angel stopped rather carelessly in the empty lot near the door and turned the engine off.

"Take your time," Angel said as she unbuckled. "I'll wait here for you."

"Oh," Judith faltered. She had expected, and rather wanted, him to come in with her. She had been counting on his steady energy to calm and reassure her; to remind her as she sat enclosed in the tiny flower-filled room in the all-consuming moment of watching a loved one die that there were still other things in the world. She took a breath; she'd already asked this much of him—what was a little more?

"Angel do you think—would you mind coming in? Please?" Angel glanced toward the door to the retirement home, and she wished she hadn't asked as his expression said that he didn't want to. She considered recanting the request, but he gave a quick nod and silently slid out of the car.

"_Thank_ you," she said as she, too, stepped out of the car, closed the door, and hurried for the building, hoping that even an ounce of the gratitude she felt would be transferred through her words. Angel was silent as she announced herself at the desk and rushed down the familiar hallways. He felt like a shadow, somewhat invisible in the dimmed light of the night hours, and utterly quiet.

Her aunt looked like she might have been asleep when they reached her room. Angel stopped at the door; the fact that he had not been invited into this small residence only barely registered in her mind. The nurse glanced up as she entered and smiled what was supposed to be a consoling smile, though it came out a little condescending through the nurse's fatigue.

"She's in a coma," the nurse said. "She doesn't have much time left." The nurse slipped into a stream of explanation of what had happened in the last hour, detailing facts that she already knew about what happens when a person goes into cardiac arrest, how severe her aunt's attack had been, and what the doctors had done for her. Judith stopped listening as she sat on the edge of her aunt's bed and took the woman's cool fingers into her own and watched the steady rise and fall of tiny breaths in her frail body. She almost didn't notice Angel address the nurse by name and call her out of the room; they spoke in quiet voices near the door while Judith gently brushed a wisp of white hair on the woman's face away.

"Hello, Aunt Jenny," she whispered, quite aware that she would not be able to hear her—consciously, anyway. "I'm here," she said gently, then stopped. What on earth were you supposed to say to a dying person who couldn't hear you? She supposed that any words for loved ones in comas were probably not really for the coma-stricken at all, but for the person doing the talking. What did she want to say? Is there anything she would regret not saying later?

"Your flowers are lovely," Judith babbled, hardly glancing at the room. "You always did have a knack for making things grow. Thank you for trying to teach me how to grow vegetables. I know I failed miserably, but I enjoyed the time we spent together. I only wish now that we'd had more time to do things like that."

She could almost hear Aunt Jenny say with a gentle laugh, "it's better to wish it now than not at all, Little Judy." Judith smiled slightly and cast about for something else to say.

She wasn't sure how long she sat there, babbling and murmuring for her own benefit. Though she never look back at him, Judith knew that Angel stood there, at the door, and his presence did help, no matter how uncomfortable the feeling was that she had asked too much of him. They waited, Judith whispering softly and staying away from the topics that might cause her voice to crack, as it was so close to doing anyway, and Angel standing a silent sentry against utter loneliness. Occasionally a doctor or nurse would come by, wanting to check on Aunt Jenny or administer some medication or another. Judith let Angel turn them away, knowing as well as he and Aunt Jenny did that medications would only prolong the unconsciousness. She wasn't sure how Angel knew, but Aunt Jenny had been saying in recent weeks that she was ready to be with Uncle George again, and autumn was a highly significant time for a gardener to choose to leave earth.

The tiny clock nestled amongst vases of flowers on the bedside table chimed three in the morning. With a startling squeeze of the hand, Aunt Jenny's eyes opened the tiniest sliver. With great effort, she whispered, "Thank you for all the flowers," sighed, and Judith thought she saw the flowers in the room stir as her spirit left them. Judith's hand covered her mouth to stifle a sob. Angel appeared at the edge of her blurred vision. Her sobs came more painfully, and she felt a light, tentative hand on her shoulder. The touch helped calm her, as if the pain spilled into him through the contact, though she let the tears fall several minutes longer. Angel offered no words of comfort, but she had been right: his steady presence was enough. When she was ready to be done, she glanced up and offered a smile of embarrassment.

"I'm sorry," she said thickly through a half-stopped-half-runny nose.

Pulling a tissue out of a nearby box and handing it to her, Angel replied, "No need. You should always grieve the people you lose."

"I suppose you would know," she said, blowing her nose and dabbing at her eyes. "You must have seen much death in your time."

"Yes," Angel said. "I have." He handed her another tissue. "Aside from the ones I caused," he added.

"Yes, that's what I meant," she replied, the oddness that the qualification was necessary a bit beyond her at the moment. She continued, "I have seen a lot of death, too. My father, when I was 26, and my mother-in-law, only about a year before the divorce. We were quite close. And…" Judith tried to swallow the sharp rock in her throat away. "My best friend. During college. It always takes you by surprise; even the ones you expect." She glanced up at Angel's stoic face. "Do you know what I mean?"

Angel nodded.

Judith continued, "And the only comfort for those of us left behind is that they're in a better place, and that we'll see them again someday." Thoughts of the reunion Aunt Jenny and Uncle George must be having right now brought bittersweet tears to her eyes again and she bit the inside of her lip against them. "Right?" She asked, looking for confirmation from someone who must have so much more experience in such matters, with hundreds of years' worth of relationships behind him.

"It's a human comfort," Angel said, and Judith looked up again. "It's one only mortals can enjoy." Angel sat down in the chair near the bed, his hand sliding gently off her shoulder.

"What do you mean?" Judith asked. Though Angel was immortal, he certainly wasn't invincible.

Angel caught her eyes and held them for a moment before he answered. "My soul is damned, Judith. No matter how much good I do, inside, I'm still a demon, and there's only one place demons go. I can guarantee that when I die, I'm not following anyone I ever loved here."

Judith sat in stunned silence for several moments, taking in the gravity and, she now realized, tragedy of his situation. "How do you heal from such a…eternal divide?"

Angel broke the eye contact and was silent for several moments, on the verge of not answering. "You promise not make the same mistake again." He finally said.

"Have you…?"

Angel stared into his clasped hands and didn't answer. In fact, she almost thought he might not have heard; that her whisper was quieter than she thought. But then she remembered his heightened senses and realized that it was simply a question he did not want to answer, and if he didn't want to answer, then she didn't want to know. In a desperate attempt to escape the exponentially-increasing tension, she spoke again, more loudly this time so that they could both pretend he simply hadn't heard; or that she hadn't asked at all.

"Does it scare you? The thought of hell?"

Angel gave a slight shrug. For a minute, she thought that he wouldn't answer again, but then he said, "Enough to keep me here, I guess." Angel stared at his interlaced fingers. "It's not as bad as it's made out to be, though. The brimstone is a lie."

Judith's eyebrows raised in surprise. "You've been there?"

Angel nodded. "My ex-girlfriend killed me once."

"I can see why she's your ex, then," Judith said with a slight smile, unable to think of a more appropriate response—if there was one at all.

Angel shrugged again. "No, I deserved it. That's not why we broke up; ultimately, anyway."

"What did you do?"

"I killed her friends, tortured the closest thing she had to a father figure—physically and psychologically—and I tried to destroy the world." Angel thought for a second. "Pretty much in that order."

Judith's jaw dropped of its own accord, and the only response she could think of to such a frank and shocking answer was, "Well why on earth did you break up if not for _that_?"

"I wasn't right for her," Angel replied. Then, thinking, added, "Or she wasn't right for me. Not in the long run, anyway."

Judith furrowed her brow in concentration, trying to imagine a relationship in which torture and mass murder were not good enough reasons to stay apart, but logical, adult foresight was. Perhaps if she knew the whole story it would make more sense, but she felt that this was not the time to delve any deeper. She settled for asking how he had managed to escape a place of eternal torment, to which his answer was equally confusing and quite brief. Something about a long story, the Powers That Be, and an apocalypse. Judith let the long stories slide by and looked back down at her Aunt Jenny, whose cooling hands she was still holding.

"I suppose we should call the doctor," Judith said.

"Are you ready for that?" Angel asked.

Judith nodded, and without another word, Angel rose to summon someone.


	4. On Blood, Sin, and Lust

**Chapter Four: On Blood, Sin, and Lust, among other things**

Judith wondered if the Inventor of the Pub had it in mind to create a space where one could sit comfortably alone, drink in hand, without the worry that others might take them for drunken social isolates, or, conversely, one trying to find another to spend the night with. Pubs were where communities could form and break in the course of the night, and where camaraderie was more important than romance—at least at this point of the evening. It was still well before midnight, and Judith only intended to stay until William arrived.

The pub was close to a friend's home, with whom she had just spent a lovely evening, and William had offered to meet her there after patrolling with Calder to walk home with her. She found the gesture protective and sweet, if a little unnerving that she was the one who needed protecting now. She did not think by any means that 10:30pm on a winter's night was too dangerous a time to walk herself home—nor, she thought, did William—but the implication was still there.

She sighed inwardly and raised her short glass of club soda with lime to her lips. She always enjoyed the atmosphere of the Dragon's Crown, where the walls were so old that the real wood still smelled of cigar smoke and aged whiskey and roasted potatoes, and where actual waiters stopped by the tables to take orders. The mirrors behind the bar sagged with age, as many things do, and she stared contemplatively at her wavering reflection. Her dark, round curls fell softly to her shoulders and the dim red lighting of the pub gave them a flattering mahogany tint. Judith decided that she must remember that the next time she went to the hairdresser.

A man sat in a booth behind her with a few of his friends. Though he was entirely nondescript, she had noticed him in the mirror several times because he would glance quickly away from her every time she happened to look; and she wished that William would arrive sooner. Romance was a game she did not want to play, and turning the poor fellow down would surely not brighten either of their nights. The man glanced over surreptitiously again and caught her eye. Judith cursed inwardly. As if a few seconds' eye contact contained all the courage he needed, the man made as if to rise. She stiffened, and the man stopped, a look of mixed confusion and slight disappointment on his face. Judith was in the middle of a thought about how surprisingly perceptive the man must be when a deep voice spoke directly behind her, startling her quite out of the moment,

"Fancy seeing you here."

Judith jumped and spun around on her stool. Angel was standing close enough behind her that she had to lean back slightly to look up at him.

"Sorry," he said.

Judith shook her head slightly. "No need," she replied, her voice slightly higher than normal. "I just didn't see you…Of course, without the reflection…So it's really true, then." She looked back in the mirror, where Angel stood invisible.

"You didn't believe it?" Angel said, sliding onto the stool next to hers.

"I did," Judith replied, captivated by the impossibility. "I've just never seen it." She stared a few seconds longer before realizing how rude she was being. "I'm so sorry," she said, turning to him. "I didn't mean to…I don't know what came over me."

"It's okay," he replied. "It takes getting used to."

"Yes, well," Judith said, "that's no excuse."

Angel shrugged. "So what are you doing here?" he asked. "Seems like the last place I'd find you."

"I'm waiting for William," she answered, straightening up unconsciously. "We're meeting here to walk home together. Though I don't know why this is the last place you would find me. It's a perfectly respectable establishment. Will and I come here for dinner frequently enough." She picked up her nearly empty glass to take another sip.

"Oh, it's quite respectable," Angel agreed. "It's just that this place turns into a demon bar around midnight."

Judith's glass clattered to the counter embarrassingly loudly. "Ex_cuse_ me?"

"Yeah, but the ones who can pass for human tend to come in a little earlier." Angel gestured to himself. "Case in point."

Judith gripped the edge of the counter and took an extra moment to regain her thoughts. "Well," she said finally. "I always _did_ wonder how this place maintained enough business to sustain itself round the clock." Judith paused. "Is it…dangerous…for humans?"

Angel shrugged again. "Depends."

Judith waited a moment before prompting, "On…?"

"Who you are. Who you're with. How late it is. The usual things you need to think about in places like this." Angel seemed to sense that this still wasn't enough for Judith because he continued after a moment, "Don't stay much past midnight on your own and you'll be fine. The bartenders are pretty good about keeping inter-species peace, but things happen."

"Alright," Judith said, and some unnoticed tension in her shoulders released. "Thank you." After a moment, she asked, "And what brings you here?"

"I like to keep tabs on what's going on," Angel said, glancing around. "And people are pretty talkative in places like this."

"I see," Judith nodded and finished her drink in one last small swallow. Silence fell and she suddenly wished that the drink had been made of something a bit stronger than carbonated water and lime juice.

Finally, Angel shifted as if to stand up. Well," he said, glancing at the booth behind them, "I think I might have interrupted something."

"Oh, no," Judith protested, instinctively reaching out a hand to stop him. "Well, yes, I think you did, but it was a quite welcome interruption, honestly." Angel smiled with one side of his mouth knowingly, and Judith continued, withdrawing her hand again, "If you would stay until William arrives, I would appreciate it. And enjoy the company, of course," she added.

Angel hesitated for a brief moment, watching his fingers trace imaginary lines on the counter. "I don't know how enjoyable my company is," he said. "I don't often interact with people on a purely social basis."

"You interact with the boys often enough." Judith asked.

"Kids are different."

"Well, if you don't want to…" Judith said.

"No, it's not that," Angel said quickly. "I'm just not good with the whole small talk thing…or the talk thing, really. I don't want to let down your expectations of good company."

Judith bit her lip in thought. Then she swiveled on her stool, facing Angel, and folded her hands in her lap. "Angel, may I be frank with you?"

"Of course," he replied, though he leaned back a little nervously.

"You are a four-hundred-and-fifty-year-old vampire, and I am a perpetually curious historian. Therefore, ontologically-speaking, you are at the very least 'interesting,' if not 'good,' company." Judith silently congratulated herself on the use of word "ontological," and made a mental note to add a new entry to her list of words she wanted to use more regularly.

Angel stared at her a moment. Then he glanced at his hand that rested on the counter. When he finally looked up at her again, he gave her a small smile. "Alright," he said. "But can we move to a booth? The reflection thing throws a lot of people off."

Judith smiled in gratitude (and yes, triumph), "Of course."

They stood up and nearly bumped into each other as Judith bent to get her coat on the hook under the counter. Both unsure of who to follow, they followed each other's hesitant leads to an empty booth further back in the pub and slid into their respective sides, Judith facing the door so that she could see William when he came in.

An uncomfortable silence fell. Sitting in a booth together was strikingly more intentional than an accidental meeting at the counter. Judith hadn't originally been intending to order anything more than her club soda, but her wish for something stronger now focused in on the image of a gin and tonic.

A waiter came over shortly. "Good to see you again, Angel," he said, placing entirely decorative coasters on the synthetic wood in front of them. "You brought company," he observed. Angel and Judith stiffened uncomfortably.

"Not that kind of company," Angel replied.

"My apologies," the waiter said, and he turned to Judith. "I'm Marty; just call me over if you need anything. Do you eat food?"

Slightly taken aback and taking a moment to remember why the question was necessary—considering the company she held in the type of establishment she now knew she was in—Judith replied that she did indeed eat food. Marty nodded and asked for their drink orders, to which Judith immediately replied gin and tonic, and Angel his "usual" and to "leave the bottle." Marty nodded again and strode off. Judith raised an eyebrow.

Noticing the look, Angel said, "I've been told that I'm much more sociable with a few drinks in me. And I'm also going to be here a while."

"Mm. Well, that's quite noble of you," Judith said somewhat derisively, "but don't waste yourself away on my account."

"I'm not," Angel replied. Judith set her jaw slightly, but decided not to press the matter—not right then, anyway. She searched for something else to start a conversation with, and Marty returned just long enough to set a bowl of salted peanuts in front of her. Judith picked one up automatically, but then hesitated, unsure of the etiquette of eating in front of someone who doesn't eat. She scrutinized him lightly.

"What?" he asked.

Judith dropped the peanut back into the bowl. "Nothing," she replied. "I'll wait until our drinks come."

"You don't have to," Angel said, leaning back into his seat, not quite as relaxed as she thought he wanted to appear. "I don't mind."

"No, no," she insisted. "I'm not hungry anyway."

Angel shrugged, but did not reply, and let his eyes wander around the room. Judith folded her hands in front of her.

"So," she said. "I'm curious: can you actually eat human foods, if you wanted to?"

"Sure I can," Angel replied, turning his attention back to her. "It just doesn't taste good."

Marty returned with their drinks and swept away again.

Judith frowned slightly. "But clearly you drink alcohol," she gestured to Angel's glass and the accompanying green-glass bottle, which bore the label of a somewhat high-end scotch whiskey.

"Liquids are different," Angel said, picking his glass up. "Or some of them are…" He took a rather large sip of his drink and contemplated it for several moments, letting it sit on his tongue before swallowing. Judith took a sip of hers while he thought, relishing the comfort of the familiar taste it brought. Finally Angel said, "I think it's the ones that are derived from something—like coffee or tea—that taste good."

"Most drinks are derived from something," Judith said. "Juice is derived from fruit."

"No," Angel replied. "Juice is part of the fruit. I like drinks that require a process to get the essence of whatever it came from. Because blood, you know, is…" He stopped and looked at her. "Sorry," he said.

"For what?"

Angel made an odd, somewhat non-committal gesture, as if trying to say through action what he meant. Finally, he said, "Humans just don't usually like to talk about blood…and…you know…" he shrugged, bringing his glass up to his mouth again. "Drinking it."

"Ah." Yes, now that she thought about it, her stomach did turn slightly at the thought; but that could also be somewhat attributed to the effect of the gin. "Go on," she said. "My curiosity overrules repulsion."

"Alright…" Angel said, giving a small smile of appreciation and gathering his words together. "…Blood contains the essence of a person," he said. "It's everything about them in a single, yet complex substance. So I like drinks that are like that." Holding up the glass of scotch as an example, he continued, "A whiskey connoisseur can tell how this scotch was made, where, when, and with what ingredients without reading the label…One sniff is enough to tell them and one taste is enough to confirm it. It's the same with blood."

Judith leaned forward, fascinated beyond all thoughts of disgust. "You can figure out any stranger's basic history just by the scent of their blood?" She said in awe.

"History, personality, looks…Nothing really specific, just generalities." Angel replied. "It can be dead useful sometimes; in understanding someone you're not about to eat…Or even someone you are, at that," he added thoughtfully under his breath, and took another sip.

Judith clenched her jaw slightly and her stomach turned once at the idea of Angel eating somebody. But she let it slide, deciding instead to ask the question that now burned at her before Reason could catch up and hold her mouth closed. "What can you tell about me?"

Angel glanced at her and wrapped both hands around his glass. "Just by your scent?" He asked.

"Are there other ways you can read me?"

Angel drew in a breath, deliberately not meeting her eyes. "I'm good with psychology. _Really_ good."

Judith took a swallow of gin and tonic that was rather larger than she meant. "I see," she said once the drink had made it all the way down. "Then just by scent. I don't think I need a full psychological profile."

Angel took another long sip, then set his drink off to the side and contemplated her. "Well," he said finally, "The obvious physical attributes aside, you're about 40 years old." He hesitated. "Maybe 41."

Judith nodded her head once. "Next month," she conceded. "What else?"

"There's something a little bit dangerous about you," Angel said after a moment. "But I can't place it. And anyway, it's been a long time since you've let yourself get to that place."

Judith's stomach suddenly tightened and she gripped her glass unreasonably firmly. It was frightening—yes, frightening—how the first trait he mentioned was the only one she actively denied. She glanced down at her drink, trying to keep images of her best friend away, and delicately swallowed the last, rather sizable amount of her gin, wishing she _had_ eaten some peanuts to absorb the sudden wave of alcohol that shortly hit her empty stomach.

"I'm sorry," Angel said.

"No, no," she replied. "I asked." She looked up again, pulling in a breath, recovered, if slightly hazier than before. "What else?"

Angel glanced at her, unsure, but continued anyway. "You're loyal," he said, "and proud. You're active and healthy, and you don't eat processed foods if you can help it. You particularly enjoy Indian food."

Judith nodded. "All true," she said.

"And you have a Thai ancestor." Angel said, finishing his drink in one surprisingly swift swallow.

"Do I really?"

Angel nodded as he refilled his glass. "Pretty far back, though," he said.

"Can I refresh that for you?" Marty asked, swinging by with a tray of glasses in one hand.

"Please," Judith replied, and Marty hurried off. Then, feeling like she must be that cat that was about to be killed by Curiosity, she continued their conversation.

"So is it the trait itself that you can smell," she asked, "or it is a common scent that, say, loyal people like me tend to carry?"

"It's the trait," Angel replied, leaning forward on his elbows in the most relaxed posture he'd assumed all evening. "And only the main traits. I can't distinguish the categories within those traits. I wouldn't be able to tell by scent if your loyalty is familial or patriotic, for instance."

"Or if my pride is manifested in egotism or the inability to admit when I'm wrong?"

Angel smiled. "Well pride is one of the seven deadly sins, and on a whole different scale than disposition."

Judith smiled also. "And which have you found to be the most common of the seven?"

Angel thought through another swallow of scotch. "Envy," he replied eventually.

Judith raised her eyebrows. "Is that so? I would have guessed lust."

"Oh, god," Angel rolled his eyes. "That's way up there, too."

"I suppose one can lust after something that someone else has," Judith said pensively, "which would fall under both categories."

"No," Angel replied. "With the seven mortal sins, lust is sexual, and not a bit more. But people always want what others have, and there are simply more opportunities to covet some_thing_ than some_one_, especially when you factor in children. Also, sex isn't as taboo as it used to be, so it's not seen as quite so lustful anymore to want to sleep with someone."

"Hm," Judith mused. "That gives me hope. There are worse sins than envy to indulge in."

"Not according to the Catholic church," Angel replied. "The Seven are all equal."

"Well," Judith shrugged, sitting back in her seat. "I'm not Catholic."

Angel smiled and tipped his glass toward her, then took a sip of his drink in response. Silence fell briefly and more comfortably than it ever had before, if Judith had taken the time to notice.

"I suppose…" she said after a moment, then decided that she needed another swallow of gin to ask the question. She started again, "I suppose you can sense virginity, then, as well? Based on your heightened senses, and that you're a creature traditionally drawn to such people—in mythology and literature, anyway."

Angel seemed surprised, though not put off by the question. "Yeah," he replied.

Judith nodded, struggling to think straight through the slight fog of one and a half glasses of gin and tonic. She often worried about William and the pressures she knew he was beginning to feel. Not that she suspected him of such activity yet—recently 16 was still young. But she did wonder.

"I'm not going to tell you about him," Angel said, as though reading her mind.

"I wasn't going to ask you," she replied. "My loyalty is familial, and it includes loyalty to his privacy. And there are many reasons why I tried to cultivate the kind of relationship with him that would not let such enormous firsts slip my notice. But I still have to wonder…"

"Of course you do," Angel said. "You wouldn't be a good parent if you didn't." He finished his drink and refilled it with a little more purpose this time, perhaps a consequence of having had so much so quickly already. Judith briefly wondered if she should insist that he stop. But instead, she smiled and simply said through another sip from her glass,

"I suppose so."

Silence fell again, longer than before, and this time Angel was the one to finally break it.

"So what kind of historian are you?" he asked.

Judith brought herself back to the moment before answering. "Native American," she replied.

Angel nodded thoughtfully. "That makes sense."

"Does it?"

"Sure," Angel said. "They're incredibly profound culturally, religiously. They're strong together, even though there are so few of them left. And very dignified." Angel paused, as if watching a memory. "And well-spoken," he added. He looked over at her. "I knew a Cherokee man once."

Judith's heart jumped slightly and she leaned forward. "Did you really?"

Angel nodded. "About 100 years ago, not long before the massacre. Dawson was his name."

"Not_ Grant_ Dawson?" Judith gasped.

"Yeah," Angel replied. "I have his journal, actually."

Judith's heart skipped several beats and the glass in her hand slipped the remaining half-inch to the table. "You have…he kept a _journal_?" She said breathlessly. "How do you have it? Can I see it?"

Angel sat back uncomfortably. "I…I took it," he admitted. "I didn't know him _that_ well. He was a very private man; he always talked about burying the journal when he finished it so it wouldn't get published. But he was killed before he had a chance to." Angel gave a half shrug. "As soon as I found out, I took it and kept it so no one else would find it. I never even read it." Angel stared at Judith a moment, she was certain reading every emotion of giddy awe and excitement that she failed to hide. After a moment, he leaned forward. "Alright, you can borrow it. Just don't spread it around, alright?"

"Yes, of course," Judith breathed, a silly grin spreading across her face. "Thank you. I can't tell you what…Grant Dawson has always been a hero of mine, ever since I learned about him as a little girl."

"He was a great man," Angel nodded, turning his attention back to his drink. "I had a lot of respect for him."

"I should think you did. That massacre may have ended his people, but his actions still have a profound effect today. The Cherokee are not dead because of him."

Angel nodded in agreement. "Yeah…He did a lot in his time here. I was impressed."

Judith scrutinized Angel over the top of her drink, a thought surfacing that often came to her when she wondered at length about Angel. "And what about you?" She asked. "Have you done a lot in your rather extended time here?"

Angel didn't answer right away, opting instead to swirl his drink aimlessly around the bottom of his glass. "I saved the world a few times," he said eventually. "But nothing I'll be remembered for, like Dawson."

"Why?" She asked. "If you have eternity to use to build up power and use it for good, why don't you?"

Angel frowned. "I decided to do that once," he said, and took a drink. "Didn't work out."

"Why not?"

Angel's eyes darkened and, setting his glass down, he looked directly at her. "Because it _really_ pisses the other side off."

Judith held their gaze, a new fire of indignity and curiosity now kindled in her gut. What sort of past must he have to _not_ take the full potential of enormous power waiting for him?

Angel sat back in his seat and said, "Sometimes I think that's why humans never live very long."

"The more they do, the shorter they live?" Judith asked, not entirely believing that cynical view, despite the trend of assassins targeting the heroes of history.

"More that they can come into this life, do their part, and get out quick, before anyone can realize just how much of an impact they made. It's a convenient amount of time, really, one human life; and it answers the question of why some creatures are immortal and some aren't."

"You've thought a lot about this?" Judith asked.

"Yeah," Angel said simply.

"So…" Judith tried to piece his logic together. "You don't feel it's your place to build up power—any kind of power—and use it for the betterment of this world? You could be a ruler, an activist, an inspirational speaker…You can be a knight for any crusade you want to start. And yet…the power isn't yours to take because you're immortal?"

"No, it's mine if I want it," Angel replied. "But the price is way too high; and they don't tell you what it is until it's time to pay."

"What is it?"

Angel hesitated. "Death, usually," he replied. "Humans are often ready for it. Or they're expecting it. But at least it's their own death, and not the people they love."

Judith could reasonably guess, "And that's what it was for you?"

Angel hesitated again. "Yeah."

Judith nodded and looked down into her glass. How could she make a case against that? "You must think we have hope, then," She finally said. "To live in this world so long, knowing better than any of us the state it's in, and to not feel compelled to play a role in its…" She glanced around, searching for the right word, "'salvation,' I guess?"

Angel swallowed and didn't answer right away. "The longer you live, the more you realize that in the war over good and evil, humanity is this world's only chance for lasting peace. There are plenty of forces out there working against them—including themselves—and there are benevolent forces to counteract them. If I took up my part, I would be one of those forces. I _have_ been, for good _and_ evil. But in the end, it's the humans who will change things forever. Not me."

Judith frowned. "I would like to know what makes you think that."

Angel shrugged. "Just what I've observed. It's the human's world; they have ultimate power. They're just not ready to handle it yet, so everything else is struggling for it in the meantime."

"And what will you do in this 'meantime'?"

Angel took a contemplative sip of his drink rather than answering immediately. He let the scotch sit on his tongue and swallowed. Judith might have pressed him if he didn't actively look like he was thinking about his answer. Finally, he looked up.

"I don't know," he replied.

Judith frowned, and also used her drink as an excuse not to speak right away. She took extra care to consider her words, not wanting to say anything she would later regret.

"Good might not have won yet," she eventually said. "But neither has evil." She looked up and caught his gaze to make sure he got the point when she said, "And it seems to me that indifference and inaction are evil's best hope."

Instead of getting angry, as she thought he might, Angel watched her as though analyzing a portrait. Judith thought eerily that she could almost see her reflection inside his eyes, rather than on the surface. Finally, Angel looked away and into his scotch. "You remind me a lot of someone I used to know." He said finally. "She would say something like that if she saw me now…only with more pop culture references that I'd have to look up later."

"And what would you reply to her?"

Angel looked up again. "That you can't possibly know why I believe what I believe, or why I act the way I do."

"Or don't," Judith corrected.

"Or don't," Angel agreed. "I'm honestly not even sure it's possible to defeat the evil that's out there, even without humanity working against itself."

It was Judith's turn to analyze Angel, the fire in her gut now less curious and even more indignant. "What on earth have you been through, Angel?" she said quietly.

Angel gave a sad smile, shook his head, and let his reply be finishing the rest of his drink.

Silence fell again, and Judith looked up in time to see William's figure making his way through the densely-arranged and now mostly occupied tables toward them. "Some other time, I would like to hear it," she said, "if you would tell it to me."

Angel turned to follow her gaze and watched William move toward them for a second. He didn't reply, and turned back.

William reached the table and his jaw dropped slightly as he recognized Angel.

"What's going on? What are you doing here?" William asked Angel, perching himself on the edge of the bench next to Judith, who shrugged nonchalantly, recovering herself to a more normal cheer before Angel did.

"Just chatting," she answered for Angel. "Apparently this place turns into a demon bar at midnight. Did you know that?"

William shook his head, still trying to process the thought of his mother and Angel having drinks at a pub together. "So…" he said after a minute. "…What were you guys…'chatting'…about?"

"Oh, the usual," Judith replied, wrapping her free arm around him affectionately, and trying to think of topics they'd covered that would elicit the most amusing reaction. "Blood, sin, lust," she listed, and smiled teasingly as William's body cringed under her arm and he gave both of them a look somehow containing disbelief, disgust, and incredulity all at the same time. "Did I miss anything?" She asked Angel, who was leaning comfortably back again and pouring himself another drink.

"Virginity," Angel offered without looking up. "But only briefly."

Judith thought she saw the briefest flash of a wink in Angel's eye, though she wasn't sure how it was possible when he wasn't looking at her.

"Right," she said anyway, taking the opportunity a mother could hardly afford to miss. "And in fact I was just going to ask how vampires can sense virginity. It is scent, or is it just a knowing?"

William shrank under her arm, as if trying to melt into the table. She pushed the peanut bowl toward him so he could have a distraction.

"It's the scent," Angel replied through his drink, watching with half an eye and as amused as she at William's embarrassment. "I mean the scent of the blood, not the body—_that_ goes away after a few days, of course."

"A few _days_?" Judith interrupted, temporarily diverted in this revelation. She slid her arm off of William's shoulder and leaned forward. "Even after showering?"

"It would take a lot of showering…With sandpaper as a scrub brush."

"Hm," Judith said, reaching for her gin and tonic. "Very interesting. Go on."

Angel took another drink and shrugged indifferently. "It's just that when there's a union between two people, they leave faint imprints of themselves on the other person that never goes away. It's a sharing of each other that's more literal than people think."

"Fascinating," Judith said, ignoring William's mild squirming. "So when people equate virginity with purity…"

"It's not about cleanliness," Angel finished. "Just how many other traces of people can be found in your blood, like mineral elements in gold. It's not a moral judgment at all, technically speaking."

"Well that's…relieving," Judith said.

"I know," Angel said, a little more emphatically that she thought he meant to. They both quickly diverted their eyes and found sudden interests in finishing their drinks.

"Hey, hey!" William said suddenly, taking the now-empty glass out of her hand. "I'm cutting you off," he said.

"I'm fine, Will," Judith smiled, suppressing the beginning of a hiccup. "I've only had two. I think it's Angel you should be worried about," she gestured toward Angel, who was filling his fourth glass (was it his fourth? She'd lost count).

"Vampires don't get drunk," William said, holding tightly to her glass despite the complete lack of effort she was putting into getting it back.

Angel snorted.

"Well they don't die from it, anyway," William said.

"Not unless they do something stupid," Angel replied. "I was raiding a convent once in Rome with a vampire that was so drunk he stuck his head in the baptism basin because he was thirsty. He thought the burning was because it was really strong alcohol, so he just kept drinking until…" Angel shrugged and took another sip of his drink, not noticing the looks of slight horror on Judith and William's faces and the dead silence that had fallen.

He set the glass down and looked up. Finally realizing what he'd just said, he pushed away from the table apologetically.

"And you just _let_ him drink it?" William said.

"Well, yeah," Angel replied. "I didn't figure he deserved to live if he was that stupid, right?"

"How very Darwinian of you," Judith said, somewhat amused in spite of herself.

"Also," Angel said, "Vampire. Evil. Both of us. So…" And he waved a hand as if that finished the sentence for him.

"Right," Judith said, then turned instructionally to her son. "Will, next time you should be incensed about the 'raiding a convent' part rather than the 'letting a vampire die' part."

William rolled his eyes. "Yes, Mother," he said. "But now I really do think we should get you home. You're…not right."

Judith smiled. "I'm fine," she said again, "but you're probably right. It's late." She looked up at Angel. "Well, I'm sorry to be leaving you alone here, Angel," she said.

"I'm not alone," Angel replied. "There area few people here I need to talk to tonight."

"Still," Judith said. "Thank you for your company, and for entertaining my curiosity. I truly enjoyed myself."

Angel nodded once. "I did, too," he replied.

Judith smiled and she and William stood up.

"Stop by sometime tomorrow," Angel said, "and I'll give you that book."

"Oh!" Judith said, wondering how on earth she could have forgotten. "Of course, I will. Thank you." Judith smiled again, nodded, and finally turned to William, ready to go. William glanced suspiciously between the two of them, but started toward the door without saying anything. Judith followed suit and bade goodnight to Angel, who returned the farewell. On the way out, Judith gave the bartender enough money to cover her tab and the tip, and she and William walked home through the cold, snow-specked air.

**The End**


End file.
